Killing the Moons
by Tolemi
Summary: Zuhal is a Fremen who fought in the ranks of the emperor Paul-Muad'Dib's Jihad. Seeing the horrors of the Jihad himself he now seeks retribution, only the death of the emperor alone will fulfill his desire.


**AN**: _So, this isn't the first fanfic for Dune I've tried but so far I think it's the best. Don't be shy to leave constructive comments. I would also like to note that sometimes you will see unfinished chapters published, these will be updated in time._

The greedy sun, shining down upon ocean of sand grasping at the moisture that was already scarce to the land, had just begun to hide behind the lid of the horizon. Zuhal welcomed this for the night brought a shade to the sands and cooled its burning grains. He sipped stale water from the tube that was fastened to his neck. It was refreshing despite its warm and hard taste and moistened his dry throat.

In a quick escape from the Emperor's spies Zuhal had lost his fremkit, the paracompass that had been inside it was crucial in pointing him back to safety. At the least he knew the general direction in which he wanted to go but until he could see the stars he had no way of knowing exactly which direction he would need to go. For his own safety he continued his rhythmless dance across the desert, he did not want to attract any of the great leviathans of the planet. The giant sandworms were attracted to vibrations and could sense even one person from far off, he would have risked it had he been nearer to a bed of rocks but in the deep desert that was a rarity.

He didn't stop to rest until he had come upon that gravelly terrain that appeared when one was close to rock beds. He had sipped at his water sparingly for he discovered his stillsuit had been damaged and knew that there would be little to drink. It was cool now and he stripped the suit from himself letting the cool breeze blow across his skin. He glanced into the night sky searching the stars for his directions. In the middle of his starmap were two great blue tinged circles. On one he could see faintly and image of a hand and on the other an image of the desert mouse, Muad'Dib. His blue-within-blue eyes gazed at them with loathing, for he hated the one that they were now associated with.

The Emperor, Paul-Muad'Dib Atreides, had once been a symbol of great hope for the Fremen but now their culture was slowly dying. There are those who still believe in his promises and the prophecies that had been spoken. They outnumbered those of the Fremen who have found hate towards him and his name was now not only a curse to them but for many others across the empire. The Jihad that he started has annihilated families and destroyed planets continuously but the people to suffer most of all were those who filled the ranks of his army. The injured were left to die as if they themselves had been the enemy, dying slowly with the thought of what they believed they were fighting for and not questioning their faith in their leader. The perfect soldier for any power crazed ruler.

Zuhal dropped his gaze, they felt like the very eyes of emperor Muad'Dib peering back at him. He felt vulnerable and slipped his stillsuit back on securing it tighter than before and lifted the hood of his cloak over his head as if it would hide him from the light of the moons. He turned to the direction of the stars he wanted to follow and started off once again. He had come too far east but he was also closer than he had originally figured. It was a long trek still but Zuhal didn't mind for it was night and aside from the satellites in the great sky he felt more alive during this time. It was when the desert was most awake, the desert mice were scurrying across the sand being mindful of the skies above for the hawks that hunted them.

When he saw the light of the sun again over the horizon he stopped and scanned the sand dunes. Straight ahead was another plain of rocks and gravel but right before it there was a large bulge in the sand. To those who knew nothing of the desserts secret this would only appear to be just another sand dune. Zuhal knew this wasn't the case, there were several of these spread across Arrakis and several others that were likely to be undiscovered. He abandoned his desert creature walk and scurried up the bulge. Once he stood atop of it he started to brush away the sand uncovering the shelter that hid beneath

He had placed a tarp over the hatch the last time he had been there to save himself the time of tugging it open. He flipped it over and opened the hatch. The entrance was to an ancient weather observation station, it was similar to the botanical testing stations that were also scattered across Arrakis, however the weather station was smaller and portable. Zuhal had spent his time observing it and theorized it could be moved similar to the way spice harvesters were, by carryall. He sat on the edge of the opening and dropped in.

It was dark inside at first and then the glowglobes lit up, softly illuminating the room. It was small inside, the room was around ten feet on both sides and Zuhal had to bend his head slightly while on his feet. Along the outside at the foot of the left wall panels decorated with buttons, knobs and gauges were torn from their places behind them the wall was gutted of wires and circuits to make room for storage

Zuhal started to peel the stillsuit from his body again. He scanned the room for any sign of intrusion, he found none. Turning his attention back to the stillsuit he examined the damage and decided it was repairable. He set it aside for the moment and dressed himself in thin simple clothing, then prepared a small meal for himself. He was weak from lack of food and it was difficult for him to even make simple things. Instead he rummaged for processed food cubes. They were bland and tough to chew on but with time they satisfied the stomach.

Exhaustion began to creep onto him, sleep was near and sleep he hated. Sleep was his greatest curse for it was inevitable and it caused him pain. It was his memories that came to haunt him when his eyes lost focus and closed. Faces of those he had lost in the cursed jihad. His brother and his brothers son were chief among them. He thought seldomly of that memory, though it stayed with him forever. It was one of the few battles in which the Emperor showed himself, his figure a silhouette against the flame lit sky. He gave command to push on and leave the wounded, that there was no saving them. It was not the first and the last instance of similar situations but it was the Emperor himself who commanded this act of desertion of the helpless.

Zuhal forced himself up away from the abyss and took up the stillsuit once again. He began to slowly repair it careful in making sure that the patch was clean and secure. He would need it in the days to come. As he sat there he began to hum the songs of his people, only adding greater weight to his unrested eyes.

_He picked the tooth from the sand_

_and held it up high._

_The blade it shone of red_

_from the bleeding sky._

_He cried he'd fight with the strength of Shai hulud-_

_Now that the worm was dead._

There was no more holding back the creeping darkness. He fell backwards, back into his nightmares, back into the damned Emperors bloody Jihad. His last thoughts were of his own crysknife in the chest of the Emperor Paul-Muad'Dib. Watching as the Emperors own blue-within-blue eyes dimmed, as if he were killing the moons.

**AN: **_Okay, so I know the weather stations don't exist. I made it up simply to add my own ideas to the story . . . well, that, and I was too lazy to look up the descriptions of the botanical testing stations and it made for an easier transition for me._


End file.
